


falling for you

by raumdeuter



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, this was a terrible idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2641271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raumdeuter/pseuds/raumdeuter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's lining up for a free kick when the boy wonder from Brazil catches his eye and winks so blatantly it's a wonder nobody else sees. </p><p>(Or: Neymar propositions Arjen Robben, and it ends badly for everyone involved.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	falling for you

He's lining up for a free kick when the boy wonder from Brazil catches his eye and winks so blatantly it's a wonder nobody else sees. For a moment Arjen thinks maybe the kid is looking at Mario or David, but neither of them are anywhere near him on the pitch, and in any case his doubts are cleared moments later when Neymar drifts past him, wide open as you please, and whispers _I'll see you after the match_ as he taps the ball past Arjen, past Jerome, past Manu's outstretched fingers and into the net.

Forwards as talented as they are know better than most the value of time. Arjen's a little surprised when he finds himself in a seedy hotel room less than an hour after the final whistle's been blown, but he's more impressed by Neymar's efficiency than anything else. Not that he doesn't have his own ideas on how to proceed; for FC Bayern nothing less than a win will do, and the shame of even a tie at home bubbles under his skin, waiting to break free.

So he's rougher when he should be when Neymar enters and locks the door behind them; he wastes no time in grabbing the kid by his collar and pulling him into something more snarl than kiss, all bared teeth and heated breath. Or he tries to, which is where it all goes wrong.

Neymar jerks backwards violently under Arjen's hand, just barely missing the doorknob behind, and drops like he's been shot. And then, improbably, begins to roll.

It's impressive, it really is. Arjen, who has spent the better part of his career honing his own technique, can only marvel at the work of a master as he carves a path across the hotel room. The agonized expression. The arms, angled just so. The way he lands perfectly positioned so his leg hits the ground at just the right angle to propel him into another revolution. And then one flailing wrist catches Arjen's ankle, and his own instinct kicks in: his back arches, his arms fly up, and before he can fully comprehend what has happened, he is face-down in the nicotine-stained carpet, curled defensively into a ball.

He pauses for a moment to collect his senses. The carpet vibrating under his cheek suggests Neymar is still rolling; then the far wall halts the kid's momentum with a thud, and the cheap television on the wall above him begins to wobble. Arjen blinks his eyes against the gentle rain of dust.

"Sorry," he says into the awkward silence. "Force of habit, I guess."

Neymar mutters something rude in Portuguese, but it quickly turns into a panicked yelp: there's a creak, an ominous snapping noise, and the television, too, succumbs to gravity.

**Author's Note:**

> this is 100% tongue in cheek and i more or less wrote it on a dare i'm so sorry


End file.
